


apart at the seams

by dysprosium (blueism)



Series: Glass. [Dream Angst] [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending but not quite since theres a happier ending im working on, DSMP Cast, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Other, andddd thats all i can come up with, angst since i love angst, first ao3 post ever dont annihilate me please, im new to tags, similes and metaphors are your best friend, what's a beta reader? (this is sarcasm btw)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueism/pseuds/dysprosium
Summary: AngstNeed I say more?
Series: Glass. [Dream Angst] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126262
Comments: 2
Kudos: 122





	apart at the seams

Dream felt numb. That wasn’t anything new though. How long had he been in this cell? Hours? Days? Months? Years? The concept of time seemed as useless as a clock without the hands. Every day (Was it day? Was it night? Without sunlight or moonlight, Dream couldn’t tell.) was the same. Fall into an uneasy sleep riddled with nightmares, wake up with tears drying in streaks down his face, feel claustrophobic in this tight, dark space. He felt the insanity slowly enveloping him. He welcomed it. It, after all, was the one thing that was always there. Friends are just counting down the seconds until they betray you. Family wait and wait and wait until they can abandon you. Dream was just too late to realize that, wasn’t he?  
All those laughs, those moments of unrestrained joy, those celebrations.  
_They were all lies, weren’t they?_  
Those days where he had felt on top of the world with his ‘friends’, those times when he had given them gifts, and those when they gave back.  
_All lies.  
Every single one of them was there to witness it.  
Not one raised a finger.  
Nobody even cared.  
Why did I love them?  
What did I see in them?  
When did everything come crashing down?_  
He didn’t know. He didn’t know if he even wanted to know. Not now, when he was at the lowest point in his life. He laughed, his voice raspy and hardly there from screaming in the beginning, and from misuse as he gradually realized that nobody would come for him. Laughing wasn’t joyous- was anything in life joyous nowadays? No, it was bitter, crazed, and desperate. Desperate for touch. Any touch besides his own. Desperate to hear someone laugh. To see someone smile. And he hated himself for that. He hated how they still, after all they’d done, had a part of him that yearned for them. Dream couldn’t bring himself to stop. Frail hands clutching at hair soaked with blood, he knew how absolutely pitiful he must’ve looked right then and there. Midway through a mental crisis (but he always went through one, didn’t he?), so skinny you could probably see the outlines of his bones, blood everywhere from him trying to feel anything, curled into a corner, and the outline of tears dripping down his face. He couldn’t care less. Who would even be coming anyway? He gave up that hope long ago.  
Hope.  
What even was hope anyway?  
Dream couldn’t remember.  
He didn’t remember anything that was really happy at all, actually.  
Just pain, darkness, and sadness. So, so much sadness. He felt like he was drowning in it. He wondered if anyone even spared a thought for him. He honestly couldn’t blame them if they didn’t. Being locked away gives you plenty of time to think. It also gave plenty of time to lose yourself. Despite what people thought, Dream was still human. It was only a matter of time before everything, the cold, small cell, the subzero temperatures, the lack of food, wore him down. He did anything to feel alive. Punching the stone fruitlessly, just to feel warm blood running down his hands. It was strange, Dream felt, that for how cold of a person he was, something about him was still warm. It just didn’t make sense, frankly. Dream wondered how much it would hurt, when he fell apart at the seams like a teddy bear. He could feel it coming. It wasn’t as if he was oblivious. It wasn’t like he’d get better.  
He’d be better off gone, right?  
Nobody would even care, right?  
Dream relaxed, breathing evening out for once, and closed his eyes, hardly feeling the pangs of sadness lapping at him, not caring that he was inches away from disrepair. He was like a mangled mirror. Break a mirror, and it’ll always be broken. Even if you rebuild it, it’ll have hairline cracks dancing through it. It’s only a mirror, anyway. Why even bother to fix it? It’s insignificant. Not worth much at all. Just like Dream. He’d be doing something good, by just giving up and being free. His longing for seeing the clear blue sky, feeling the lush green grass, and breathing in warm, fresh air had carried him thus far.  
Yet, nothing lasts forever.  
His lust for freedom could only last so long.  
He knew this was coming.  
He was a fool, thinking he’d get out of this hellhole.  
He’d only prolonged his suffering.  
He was the cause of all their problems, and all of his own as well.  
He was a pest, wasn’t he?  
And what did pests do?  
Pests got eradicated.  
Dream let himself go, smiling mildly as white noise filled his ears, and he drifted away from the land of consciousness, welcoming the perfect emptiness that surrounded him.  
\----

**Author's Note:**

> Ending is ambiguous! I don't mind if you decide if Dream gets saved, or dies, but if people want me to write a chapter where they save him, I'll provide  
> Anyhow, thank you for reading my short angst story!  
>  ~~I need validation pleAse~~  
>  How does one end without being awkward in end notes?


End file.
